


Ginny, End of School 1997

by JessaLRynn



Series: Glimpses [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Gen, Introspection, Love, Romance, love and tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 21:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7480596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessaLRynn/pseuds/JessaLRynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anyone who knows about it ... will ask her why she let him walk away. Ginny, after the funeral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ginny, End of School 1997

Anyone who knows about it and thinks about it, any one at all, will ask her why she nodded, why she let him walk away and why, why in the name of Merlin did she let him do that to her. And she will smile that wistful half-smile that will become her _only_ smile in the days ahead and she will say, "For the same reasons he did."

They will walk away, shaking their heads, or grumbling under their breath, perhaps, that she has finally lost it, that the situation has finally become too much for her, that she's gone completely round the twist. And perhaps they will try to fix things, mentioning Snape, and Malfoy, and the other cold realities of the situation.

But she knows the true reality, just as she knows the boy who has walked away from her a man too old for his years. She has known this was coming for days, for weeks, perhaps forever. She has felt it in her heart, like a burning ache, and has prepared herself carefully for what he would say, for what she must say in return. He would not let her finish, and she knew this before hand, so maybe she will have to corner him later, or maybe she will leave the rest unsaid until it's over. She doesn't know that part, but she does know that she did the right thing - no tears, no regrets. They are all his, the regrets, and she knows she will have them too, but not like his, not when he is wearing old words on his heart, not when he might as well carry about a banner that says "We who are about to die salute you."

He has been scarred for life, in more ways than just the obvious one, in more ways than most people could withstand. His life was set on a road to hell before he was born - no, he never actually confessed this to her, but they have been talking without words for weeks, and she knows. Every single moment of pleasure he has ever experienced has been bought for him at such a dear price to someone. It is a price he will not let her pay.

This, above all things, lets her know the truth of what he will not say. She is no stained-glass fairy-tale heroine, raised above the world and immured in an innocent's prison. She has been set aside for another reason - not enthroned with purple cushions, not locked in a vault to be taken out and admired when it is safe to do so. She has been castled rather, the valued piece guarded carefully, but not blocked. The piece that must not be lost or else the game is over.

Even a year ago, she would have wondered if her interpretation of events were not wishful thinking. When only Dumbledore could tear him away from the body of a lost friend, when only Dumbledore could stand in the center of his storm, she would not have thought so much of herself, or even so much of him.

But the world has fallen into darkness since then, and she can see thestrals, and has seen the most precious people torn down by the predators of the night. She has inadvertently stepped into the shoes of great men, and come away a woman on fire.

He has gone and will go to war, a war for his soul as much as for all their lives. She has her duty, and that duty must include being strong. She cannot rage and weep at what has been taken from her because so much more, and the same besides, has been taken from him. The child who could not speak to him has been burned away and now she must glow as a hearth fire and a candle in the window. She will have so much to do, to prepare, to contribute. She will have such responsibilities that the red of her locks may be tarnished with silver before they are all done. But she will do them, because he will require them, whether he knows it or not, and she has become his anchor to a world that will be waiting for him when all this is said and done.

She used to think that one day she would sacrifice herself for him, but she never imagined that she would have such a choice: to be a frightened, angry, heart-broken little girl, or to sacrifice that little girl to the wildest chance that he will not merely survive, but live.

And this great man whom they have come together to mourn and to celebrate, whose wisdom reaches out even from his marble tomb to touch all their lives, did say that there would come a time to each of them when they must choose whether to do what was right or what was easy.

So she makes her choice and stands beside him, stands beside him even when he has already walked away, swept off by waves of sorrow. She will be there for him, be his last window into the real world that he is fighting so hard to save. She will fight, too, in her hidden and willful way, and she will never give up. He will see no accusation in her eyes when he looks at her, only joy that she is looking back at him, alive and brave, and oh so noble.

And some time, maybe tomorrow afternoon, when her mother asks her tearfully where her little girl has gone, when her mother demands to know why she has become this ash-risen creature of such frightening, secret joy, she will not be swayed. She will know that she is cherished, precious enough to be moved into the delicate position between protected and protecting. She will know that she is loved.

And she will smile that wistful half-smile that will become her only smile in days to come, and she will say, "Stupid, noble reasons."


End file.
